This cursor moves you, as sounds made with breath and tounge.
feeling the form in the womb of the void
it is not.
it is un.
As I gaze about, taking life in, I stick my face in it.
Reach into it and withdraw what I seek.
It is for me
It is oresent
It is gift.
It is prescious.
Now feeling precarious and godly, a creator, a manifestor.
I am Narcissus, I begin to splash at my reflection in the mirror pool.
Bestow your gifts
cherishing what has been given
when you give of your self you give to your self
sharing is grace.
Your feet were flosting above the ground
you immersed within the sound
vibration coarses through you thrusting you toward your home
reminding you that you wre never alone, when.....
you were naked and it was dark
yearning and your face grew wet..
drinking and snorting, shooting yourself
stabbing at your veins, feeling insane
fumbling your words into and through dreamlike metaphors
there you identified with your heart,
a tumultous hurricane
ripping trees out of their roots, and homes from their foundations...
like weeds in a magical garden, and now the garden blooms.
jjas- cc 2006